


but nothing remains the same

by Lunochka (distaff_exile)



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M, History Marches On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 19:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distaff_exile/pseuds/Lunochka
Summary: i'll be lost without you/until the end of days(1940. Henry Miller is not the only person to get a letter from Corfu.)
Relationships: Louisa Durrell/Spiros Halikiopoulos
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	but nothing remains the same

The letter, when it came, shocked her to the bone. 

He was only -- had only been -- forty-eight, if she was counting the years correctly. Six years between them, and she had been fifty-four in January. Certainly she felt in better health now than ever before, except of course that Bournemouth was no Greek paradise. 

So how on earth could Spiros have died of pneumonia in the very prime of his life?

Margo had taken it upon herself to write, "sparing the family the sad duty of informing 'Mrs. Durrells', and nobody wanted to go near Dimitra after everything with Basil. You understand. So it's me, and I thank God I was here and you were not. It is cruel to watch someone you love so dearly leave you for ever."

"Yes," said Louisa to the letter. "Yes, I'll grant you that."

Someone she loved had gone where she could not yet go. Well, and how was she allowed to react to that? What with her reputation as the poor English widow, she couldn't don all black for him, and Spiros wouldn't have appreciated the gesture. He had always been too full of life. They had, of course, not spoken of Basil's death, the only real tragedy they'd known together; it was one thing to acknowledge that something horrible had occurred, quite another to mourn one's wife's lover, however estranged one had been from said wife at the time. 

However much one had loved another woman instead.

For she knew, beyond doubt, that as she had left her own heart behind on Corfu, so she had taken one with her. Spiros could not be completely dead, not as long as that heart beat inside her chest. But by that logic a part of Louisa lay buried on an island many miles to the south, where she might never go to tend its grave. 

She heard the front door open, then shut again. By the light outside her bedroom window, she deduced it must be late enough for Leslie to come home from the factory. She heard him greet Mary and Alexia, whom Theo had sent to safety in Bournemouth and who spent most of their days knitting for the servicemen. Gerry worked long hours at the pet store by choice, preferring the company of animals to humans in this strange new England; he would turn up, oh, just in time for Maria to lay the table for supper. 

"Mum!" Leslie shouted up the stairs. "Mum, d'you want me to help with the blacks?"

Without meaning to, Louisa had dripped onto Margo's letter, blotching some of the words. She lay it aside and dashed at her cheeks with her fingers and the heels of her palms. This was the shape of her family now: two sons at home, a son and a daughter abroad, two friends and a maid to remind her of the happiest days of her life. 

And the blackout curtains did need to be closed, all over the house. "In a moment, Les," she called back, sounding, she knew, like she had managed to come down with a cold since morning. Some fleeting part of her hoped it was a cold coming on, a chill, an inflammation of the lungs that would drown her as her grief would inevitably try to do. She shoved it away. If only for Gerry's sake, she must carry on. All of the others were grown and could go where they wished, but Gerry was fifteen, with an irregular education indeed to show for all of her efforts on his behalf. 

"We don't want another earful," said Leslie, striding into her bedroom without so much as a by-your-leave. "Nor do we want to be Hitler's personal runway lights. Hallo, it's dark in here." He shut Louisa's curtains and turned on her lamp. "There we are. Mum, you look terrible."

"Tactful as ever." Louisa rearranged her hair under its kerchief, but she knew her nose got red when she cried, and her eyes puffed up fiercely. "Darling. This came from Margo." She gave him the letter. "It seems I'm a widow again, this time without benefit of having married the poor chap."

"A widow?" Leslie looked at her as if she were a firework about to go off, then glanced down at the page in his hand. "Oh, God, Margo's--"

"Been to see old friends."

Leslie's keen eyes worked over the lines, his brow creasing more deeply by the second. Margo had not buried the news deep in pleasantries. There were no pleasantries to be had these days. 

"Mum," said Leslie, at last. The kindness in his voice nearly undid her again. "I'm so sorry. We all cared very much for him, but I won't pretend anyone cared more than you."

"That's good of you."

Leslie sat down beside her and hauled her into his arms; she inhaled factory and unwashed young man and tried to immerse herself in the present. "I'll ask Maria to bring your supper up here. You should lie down, have some rest."

"And do what? Think? I've been thinking since the war broke out."

"Sleep. Do you want me to get a doctor? You've had a shock, you might at least take a calming draught."

Poor love, he had been so young when his father had died, so very helpless. Louisa suspected he was trying to make up for his previous incapacity. So she nodded, and let Leslie remove her shoes and tuck her into bed. 

"I'll make sure you're not disturbed unless you'd like to be," he said. "Shall I tell the others?"

"I think it would be appropriate," said Louisa. "Gerry knows what Spiros was to me, but if Theo ever said a word to his family, they haven't let on." Really, all of Corfu had to have known, by the time the Durrells left, but just now polite pretense sounded a lot more comforting than pity and sympathy. This was not everyone else's burden to bear with her. This was her burden alone, because he had been so much more hers than anyone else's. She could not see any other way forward. As restrained as that love had been, as chaste, she must bear up under her sorrow in a seemly way. 

"We'll write back to Margo together," said Leslie. "You and I, and Gerry if he can tear himself away from his little zoo."

"I think, for this, he might just."

"But first the doctor. You must rest; you cannot let yourself get run down."

"Leslie. This isn't my first loss." She gave him her only smile, a weak one, but real. "I won't wither away." No matter how much she wanted to. "I just need time, and quiet, and yes, rest. And normal. What passes for normal around here."

"You'll have it." Leslie leapt up. "I'm off. I'll send Maria up with tea. You're cold to the touch. You want warming from the inside."

How odd; she hadn't noticed herself, but yes, she was cold. She had supposed it was the usual drear of the weather, which despite nearly a year's distance from Corfu remained somehow underwhelming. "Thank you," she said. "You're my good boy."

"Man by now, I should hope."

"My good man." 

Leslie wouldn't fuss over his mother if he were ready to do without her. He needed her, too. 

That need would tether her to the earth for now, until she felt ready to root herself in it again.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to know that there was an unwritten future for my darlings -- except that their last parting really was their last. Perhaps I'll undo history someday and write you a happier sequel, which we shall tag "To Hell With History".


End file.
